Last week was holiday time for us and off to Southwold in Suffolk we went!
The days of jetting off to exotic climes seem to have long since passed for me and I must admit I wasn't particularly enthralled by the prospect of a week experiencing what we laughingly call "British Summertime" at close quarters.
My memories of English seaside fun extend to week-ends as a child visiting my grand-parents in Brighton. I loved seeing my grand-parents. However, the beach was nothing but a chore: staggering across agonising pebbles to step into a witheringly cold sea. Inedible sticks of rock and sticky candy-floss were given as a panacea to the general dullness of it all, but they were awful too.
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| Dental suicide |
Well, my worries could not have been more misplaced. We had a wonderful time! Southwold is WONDERFUL! Go there! NO. Don't. Don't tell anyone about it.
Sandy beaches, beach huts, a pier, a putting green, a boating lake, cream teas, wasps, butterflies, crabs, ladybirds en masse, OAP's, Boden catalogue families, resentful locals: they were all there and out in force.
Long live the Summer! I am a Born Again British Beachbum. Wish it would stop raining, though.
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| Oz and the Bear digging for pebbles |
